The Adventures of Mullet Man!
by melydia
Summary: A terribly silly story, bound to be a disappointment to fans of Star Wars fic everywhere.


**The Adventures of Mullet Man!**

**by melydia**

**Author's Note**: Aaron and Frank are mine, though I'm sure I am not the originator of the name "Mullet Man." Star Wars and all its associated characters, however bizarrely used here, belong to George Lucas. Rogaine belongs to Pfizer Inc.

Mild-mannered Aaron Price checked himself out in the rearview of his pink station wagon, courtesy of Mary Kay. Smoothing his fingers over his keen mullet, Aaron smiled. Such style, such class. As the sun set in the west, he stopped by the gas station on the way home and bought a scratch-off ticket for the Pennsylvania lottery. As usual, he didn't win anything.

Tossing his bag of makeup samples on the couch, Aaron hurried to the blinking answering machine, his slight potbelly jiggling with the effort. "Aaron?" the voice on the first message droned mechanically. "This is Frank. I was wondering if you might want to take the night off and grab a couple of beers or something. Call me." Ah, mild-mannered Frank Merriweather, collector and trader of vintage hats, as well as Aaron's closest friend.

"This is your mother, Aaron," the second message whined, "you haven't called me. We miss you. Come over and have dinner sometime. Your father might even get out of the recliner to say hello. What's this you do every night? Do you have a girlfriend or something? Anyway, call me. Love you, bye."

Aaron decided to ignore the messages for now and heated up a Hot Pocket. Munching the fried nugget of cheesy goodness, he wandered downstairs past the laundry room to his Secret Lair. With one last furtive glance behind, he slipped inside.

The Lair was headquarters to Aaron's secret alter ego, Mullet Man, superhero, defender of oppressed hairdos everywhere. Immediately he struggled into his purple spandex outfit that accentuated his potbelly rather unflatteringly. After a few macho poses in front of the mirror, Mullet Man sat down at the console and dialed his sidekick, Rogaine Boy.

The screen bloomed into life to reveal a shorter balding man wearing small glasses and a tattered brown cardigan. His balding scalp was miserably disguised under a bad comb-over. "Merriweather's Hats, how can I – oh, hi, MM. I told you not to call me this early."

"But Rogaine Boy, every minute we sit, another Afro is cut off, another gheri curl washed out, another Mousse Mountain tamed. We cannot rest. Our quest is never finished. These people must learn to embrace their style, to fight their oppressors, to make this world one of peace, harmony, and really good hair."

Frank Merriweather toyed with an old fedora and popped a pill from the Excedrin bottle that was never far away while Mullet Man recited the tired old pep talk. He'd heard it a million times, and this whole superhero business had started giving him migraines. "Yeah, I know all that, but I was sort of hoping we could just rent a movie or something tonight."

Mullet Man struck a thoughtful pose and considered this. At long last, he relented. "Ok, come on over around 7."

_(-&-)  
_

The evening was spent eating too much popcorn, drinking too much beer, and watching the first two Star Wars movies (that is, the first two of the original trilogy, not the sucky news ones that just came out). As the final credits rolled for The Empire Strikes Back, Aaron turned to Frank. "I've got an idea."

Giggling into his beer, Frank said, "What's your idea?"

"That Darth Vader guy. What's he look like under that helmet?"

"Well, uh, he's a bald little egg-headed white guy. Why?"

"Right. So, don't you think he should be our newest cause? Look, he's so ashamed of his lack of hair that he wears a helmet!"

Frank smirked. "He needs the helmet to breathe."

Aaron pondered. "There has to be a better way. We need to find this Darth Vader!"

"Whatever you say, man. I think it's nappy time." With that, Frank nestled on the beanbag and began to snore raucously.

_(-&-)_

The next night, Mullet Man and Rogaine Boy prowled the streets of Pittsburgh in their unflattering spandex uniforms, in hopes of finding some oppressed hairdos to defend. At least, Rogaine Boy was. Mullet Man, on the other hand, was still stuck on the notion of finding Darth Vader.

"I'm telling you, MM, he dies in the third movie. Even if he was real, and not just some guy acting behind James Earl Jones's voice, he'd still be dead."

But Mullet Man would not be put off that easily. "We must find him, Rogaine Boy. None should be forced to live in such shame of their hair."

"It's not like we'd be able to find him even if he did exist," said Rogaine Boy. "This isn't the Wizard of Oz. There's no yellow brick road to Darth Vader."

"Perhaps you're right, but I cannot allow such minor setbacks deter me from my quest."

"Look, just loan me a couple bucks and we'll rent Return of the Jedi and you'll see what I mean."

"Another time. Look!" Mullet Man cried, pointing. "Across the street! That woman with the huge perm is about to get a more up-to-date style! We must help her!"

The night passed as usual, with Mullet Man and Rogaine Boy charging into barbershops all over town, demanding less oppression, tearing down photos of conservative hairdos, and insisting on a free wash-n-cut. A few days later, Mullet Man and Rogaine Boy settled down into being just Aaron and Frank, and watched Return of the Jedi. His emotions accentuated by alcohol, Aaron was absolutely bawling by the end.

"But...it was his dad! And he died! And his only crime was having no hair! And, and – whyyyyyyy!" he moaned, as Frank patted his shoulder and tried to ignore him.

"There there, it was only a movie. Darth Vader's just a character. That, and he was an evil tyrant who preyed on the innocent masses, but that's beside the point. We'll find another cause. Don't worry."

_(-&-)_

In his tiny Pittsburgh apartment, Anakin Skywalker sighed at his reflection. Cursed, that's what he was, cursed with this egg-shaped white monstrosity of a head, without even enough hair to make a bad comb-over. Such torment as none had ever known. Was there no one to speak out for the follicly impaired, none to fight for the bald? With a heavy heart and a deep sigh, Anakin donned his black helmet once again.


End file.
